“I know you didn’t put my child on top of a firetruck.”
Our son was about 2 years old in December 2009, and my husband had taken him to Southport’s Christmas parade. Back then, it was called the “firetruck parade” because that’s really what it was: a line of firetrucks with kids loaded onto the tops, riding through downtown so children could see the Christmas lights. Marc and Levi thought it was great fun, but I saw it as an accident waiting to happen.
Since then, our son has ridden atop the firetruck several times. I think it’s a rite of passage for little Southport children and maybe grownups, too. Our son was 5 years old when I first rode on the firetruck. While I was terrified to be that far off the ground — fire trucks are tall, y’all — the experience was magical. Seeing the lights twinkling in the trees and reflecting off the Cape Fear River while waving to your friends and neighbors as the trucks cruise slowly through the business district — it’s small-town life at its best.
It almost sounds like a scene in one of those Hallmark Christmas movies, except it’s real life. I tell my friends from other areas of the state about it, and they are always in awe. I don’t think there’s anything else like it anywhere in the world. It’s our special thing.